


Yield: 1-2 servings

by Isagawa



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu overthinks in this one, Character Study, Fluff, M/M, Safe for anime-onlys, Stressbake, it's actually more of a, well it's that but also if you read it as platonic i'm out to get you, you know that 'the ship is only there if you squint' thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29652303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isagawa/pseuds/Isagawa
Summary: On a fateful night when he was fifteen, Miya Atsumu baked for the first time.He just needed to ask Osamu a favor. The brownie was a means to an end, a one-time thing.It still turned out, as Samu said,really good, how did you do this, what the hell.[Written for the SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021's free day!]
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 79
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	Yield: 1-2 servings

**Author's Note:**

> yet another rarepair... i'm a dumb bitch i will never change i will never improve that is a promise  
> hope you'll find this tasty ;))))  
> (US residents reading will need to know: 20cm is roughly 7.5")

🍪 🍪 🍪 

On a fateful night when he was fifteen, Miya Atsumu baked a brownie. It wasn’t just his only (for now) attempt at brownies, it was his only (again, for now) attempt at baked goods in general. Mostly, he had made it to please Osamu, because Samu loved brownies. Atsumu needed to earn his favors, for there was no way he would get through that physics test if his bro didn’t let him peek on his exam. 

The brownie was a means to an end. A one-time thing. 

It still turned out, as Samu said _,_ _really good, how did you do this, what the hell._

🍪 

Atsumu’s second attempt at baking happened between six and eight months later. 

They were having a volleyball match the next day and it had been stressing him out — of course he thought they’d win, they were the best, it wasn’t the problem, the problem was that he couldn’t get his smash serve to land _just right_ yet when he had planned to and he didn’t get why. 

Anyone who had met him thought at first he was the dumber twin, bragging and laughing and yeah, maybe smart, but also not using his brain a lot. (How Samu had ended up with the image of the controlled, serene one, it was a mystery Atsumu couldn’t solve.) The truth, of course, was more complex than that. Atsumu prided himself on his ability to dare follow his heart, which usually meant people failed to see his logic and thought it stupid. And maybe being an ass to the other volleyball teams just for shit and giggles—or stick his tongue out in every group photo—or eat twelve onigiri in a row to win a bet against Osamu—yeah, maybe that one in particular _had_ truly been stupid, but it only meant Atsumu was committed, okay. He took things to heart. He was in things 200% or not at all. 

Which brought him back to the current moment: in his room, replaying all his smash serves in his head to find what went wrong. Huddled under the cover. A hundred things going on in his mind at the speed of sound. 

He couldn’t possibly be the dumber twin. No stupid person could overthink that much. 

He reached out, holding his hand out in front of him: fist closed then open then closed again. He could almost feel the texture of the ball on his palm, its weight. What went wrong when he hit it? Was it the jump? The power of the smash? The trajectory?

He would have gotten up to try again, but Osamu had hidden their ball before going to sleep to prevent him from playing until two in the morning. Thanks, bro. 

“Fuck,” he said softly, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. He was sixteen. A.K.A way too young for that shit. 

That’s when he remembered the website he had found the brownie recipe on. An ugly website, by the way. Probably the cheapest piece of HTML he had stumbled upon in his life, coded by someone’s grandma or something. But the brownie had been good. And Astumu needed his mind to take a break.

He tiptoed by his parents’ room on his way to the kitchen and thought, _I’m gonna need a good excuse if I break a bowl_. 

It was 0:26 A.M. 

By one fifteen, he was tucked in bed, sleeping soundly, a poundcake on the kitchen table and a light flour stain on his pillow. 

🍪 

After that, the weird one-time thing (which had become a weird two-times thing) simply became his weird habit. 

It was always uncomplicated: recipes he could follow easily, or with time, know by heart. What mattered was the physicality of it, truly. And when he baked a banana bread on autopilot before his midterms, mechanically taking and pouring and weighing and stirring together with his mind blissfully blank, he knew he had achieved whatever there was to be achieved here. 

The thing with habits are, they are resilient little things. They grow on you like ivy on these old countryside houses you see in european films. You find it pretty and you think you control it, until the plant has basically taken your home hostage or something. 

The point being: Atsumu should absolutely not be baking now, of all times, because the other U19 players are gonna hear him and hate him and he doesn’t _care_ per se but also, his future is kind of on the line here, and if no one hits his passes tomorrow because of this he’s gonna hate the whole world. They’re not like the Inarizaki players, who became begrudgingly fond of him. 

He’s almost sure the only one who wouldn’t care would be that Kageyama guy, because everything that’s not volleyball seems to go over his head. But Kageyama is a setter too and shouldn’t hit his passes in the first place. So he’s still fucked. 

Oh, you know who he thinks would be an absolute pain in the ass if he saw him right now? That tall dude from Itachiyama, whatshisnameagain-

“What _ever_ are you doing,” a voice says behind him, and, ha, yeah, his name is Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

Atsumu takes a second to himself to roll his eyes before turning around and showing a fake smile. 

“Sakusa-kun. Hi. Didn’t think you were awake.”

“Same goes to you.” 

Sakusa stands very tall and stiff in the kitchen, less in an embarrassed way than in a ‘I grew twenty centimeters in the last twelve months and my body hasn’t quite processed the information yet’ way. It’s a stark contrast to Atsumu’s own body, all pliant with his head cocked to the side, his hands on his waist and his hip propped against the counter. 

(Years later, Atsumu would describe this as his ‘signature bisexual pose’, but hah, he hasn’t quite processed _that_ information yet.)

“To answer your question, even though I believe it is quite obvious, I’m baking,” Atsumu says after a beat of silence. He’s not up past his bedtime to have staring contests with Sakusa Kiyoomi. He actually has things to do here. 

“Yes, I gathered that much. Why.” 

Atsumu isn’t imagining the full stop at the end of the sentence, is he? Can it really be considered a question at this point? Is he forced to answer that? 

“Why do you think?” he says, turning around and resuming taking a mixing bowl off a shelf. 

“You don’t seem the type to cook for people you have barely met, either out of sheer kindness or because you want them to like you. So I don’t know.”

“Keen judge of character, aren’t you?”

Sakusa flatly stares. 

“Okay, okay. It’s a habit, is all.”

“Seems quite incapacitating a habit, if you can’t refrain yourself from doing it in a foreign kitchen during a training camp.”

Atsumu barks a laugh, hand in front of his mouth so he doesn't make too much noise. It _is_ the middle of the night. “Well, touché. I dare say it seemed a good idea at first. Something about weighing butter and milk just shuts my brain down. ”

“I guess it’s like ASMR,” Sakusa says (and, wow, Atsumu didn’t think he would actually willingly participate in the conversation), “it’s something my cousin listens to- at first he used it to sleep better and now he can’t sleep without it.”

Atsumu snorts. “Backfire like hell, habits.”

“Hm.” 

Atsumu has finished mixing the batter. He pours it in a baking mould, then squats down and opens the oven. 

“How long?” Sakusa says behind him.

“How long what?” 

“How long ‘till it’s ready?” 

“I don’t know, twenty minutes or so. If you plan on staying here, would you take it out and turn off the oven? I’m going to bed.”

Sakusa finally looks a little surprised. 

“Aren’t you going to eat it?”

“Ha, no, eating isn’t what interests me. It’s just baking.”

Sakusa seems pensive, and suddenly it gets Atsumu thinking- _  
  
_

_Hey, what ever are **you** doing here?  
  
_

"Oh my god."

He turns to the ace spiker, grinning.

“Oh my god, you have a bad habit too. You’re a stress-eater.” 

“I’m not a _stress_ -eater,” Sakusa says, his voice on the edge of _offended_. “I’m not stressed right now.”

“But you took the habit. Didn’t ya.”

Sakusa glares-slash-squints at him.

It might as well be an agreement. 

“Well,” oh this is very funny, Atsumu is really trying not to laugh right now, “you can go for it. Eat the whole cake for all I care. Glad I could be of use.”

He pats Sakusa’s shoulder on his way out. 

“Good night, Sakusa-kun.” 

He’s long gone when the spiker painstakingly takes off his mask, sighs a very deep sigh, and says to the now empty kitchen: “Good night, Miya.” 

  
  
  


(Years later, Atsumu would describe the whole ordeal as ‘a very chaotic and unacknowledged first date’. But they haven’t processed the information yet.)

  
  


🍪 🍪 🍪 

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to join the collective effort of the sakuatsu week, but it's really quite hard when you're only caught up to the anime and the characters have interacted like, one time at most lmao. (yeah don't spoil plz) BUT on the brightside I might write a follow-up when the new series drops so who's the real winner here
> 
> please please please consider leaving a comment!! <33


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